


Boots, Chaps, and Cowboy Cheeks

by havesomegdfaith



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Drabble Collection, I'll add drabbles and characters, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2020-03-08 12:18:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 12,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18894493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havesomegdfaith/pseuds/havesomegdfaith
Summary: A collection of some of my cowboy related drabbles from tumblr





	1. Arthur

**Author's Note:**

> This was based on a prompt request
> 
> “Please, not now.”  
> “Don’t leave me. Don’t you dare leave me.“  
> “I’m Sorry.“  
> “How did you imagine our future together?“

His breath was incredibly raspy, rattling in his lungs. You took his hand in yours, squeezing it tight as you were kneeling beside Arthur, who just lied there. Not moving.

“Please, not now. Not- not now,” you cried, tears running down your cheeks, dripping onto Arthur’s bloody shirt. Your lips pressed against your entwined hands, “don’t leave me. Don’t you dare leave, Arthur Morgan.”

“I’m sorry, darlin’. I-,” a horrible cough interrupted him. Shaking him to the core. Fresh blood on his lips. You brushed it away with your thumb, taking your time as to remember the curve of his lips, how it felt like- Another sob left you, your body was completely clenched up. Hurting all over.

The sun was rising. Its orange light illuminating the greyish-blue sky. If only you could enjoy this moment with Arthur, if only… 

You felt his free hand on your elbow, once warm, now not so much anymore. “How did you imagine our future together?” If it weren’t already broken, your heart would splitter into pieces at hearing his barely audible voice.

Normally, you would have laughed at this question. Silly dreams for outlaws like the two of you were. But now? Why not tell him? It was your last chance anyway. Who was he to judge you?

You tried to regain control over your voice, steadying it. Before you cupped Arthur’s cheeks with your hands you brushed your tears away. Clearly in vain, as they kept coming no matter what.

“We would move north or west, I don’t know. Somewhere nice, secluded, peaceful. We would’ve married, get a dog and have children - two or maybe three. We would own a small farm. There would be a tree with a swing in front of the house where our children would play. We would have a nice front porch, where we would watch our children play, sit side by side, arm in arm, watch the sunset,” your voice broke. Arthur’s grip on your elbow had become weaker and weaker as you had spoken.

He was smiling at you, tears shimmering in his eyes. His blue eyes. You would miss them so much. 

“Sounds real nice,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving yours.


	2. Arthur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again a prompt
> 
> “Daddy, how did you and mommy fall in love?“

Arthur had been sitting with his child both of them lost in their own little world while you were standing over yonder, hanging out the laundry. Arthur was sketching something into his journal, while little Morgan was playing with his newest gifts from uncle Charles - small wooden deer.

“Daddy, how did you and mommy fall in love?”. Arthur looked up at his child to find them having stopped to play, head tilted at their father. 

“Uh,” he cleared his throat, caught by surprise at this question. Putting his pencil down, Arthur shifted in his seat and leaned closer to his kid, who waited patiently for an answer.

“Why’d you want to know?” Arthur had never thought about answering that question. Especially for his child.

“I’m just curious,” they shrugged. They had his eyes, but your pout. The same one that made him yield, every single time.

Arthur sighed, knowing he’d lost already. He looked over to you, watched how the wind got caught in your hair and your dress, in the bedsheets you were hanging out. And he smiled.

“You see,” Arthur patted his knee, his eyes now back on your child who took his gesture as a sign to hop onto his lap, “back then, she tried to shoot me.”


	3. Arthur

Arthur’s diary lied on your lap as you sat on the porch of John’s farm. The sun was slowly setting. It’s orange light blinding you as your eyes skimmed the worn pages. You have found comfort in Arthur’s sketches and thoughts. 

Everything you had left of him was this book and your memories of him. You wanted to talk about him, out of fear to forget him otherwise. But you didn’t want to push Abigail or John. They mourned him as well. In their own way. 

Sometimes you realized with horror that you forgot what his voice sounded like, his laugh. You forgot how his hands felt in yours. How calloused they were.

You turned another page and stopped when you saw a drawing of you. It took up the entirety of the double page. You couldn’t remember when Arthur had drawn you like this. Sitting on a rock, a steaming cup of coffee in your hands, you smiled with closed eyes, facing the observer.

You missed those peaceful days. You missed Arthur. 

You turned the page. Again you stopped. This time because your name was written on top. It was an entry addressed to you. You swallowed. Your throat feeling constricted all of a sudden. You heard Rufus barking as Jack was playing with him a few feet away from you. Inside the house, Abigail was playing the piano. She was getting better and better.

You took a deep breath and turned to the letter again. Reading it with an aching heart.

_I can’t love you anymore. I know I shouldn’t. I’m ill and I can’t change that. And I feel terrible for placing this burden on you._

_The doctor told me to rest and to take things easy. As if that was possible. I don’t even remember the last night I slept without waking up, coughing._

_Everything hurts. But I can’t tell you that, darling. I know that if I did you’d drag me to another doctor, yelling at him to help me. But there is no cure. There is nothing you could do. I’m dying._

_And it breaks my heart to leave you alone. Alone in all this._

_I hope I’ll be able to make it as long as possible to see you in safe hands._

_I just want you to know that I love you. I love you and I’m sorry. I’m sorry to break your heart. I’m sorry I was too selfish to let you go and find happiness with someone else. With someone who wouldn’t have dragged you into this mess._

_I hope you’re alright when you’re reading this. Happy and safe. And not mourning me anymore._

_I hope you have found a family. One that loves you and makes you laugh._

_I wish you the best._

_Yours - even in death,_

_Arthur_

Your vision started to blur - thanks to the tears streaming down your face. You covered your mouth with your hand, trying to muffle your sobbing. 

After a while, you heard slow footsteps on the wooden porch approaching you, followed by a quiet voice: “Aunty, you’re alright?”

When you looked up, you nodded your head, a smile planted on your face. You wiped away your tears and laughed. “Yeah, I’m more than alright.”

Because you realized, when Jack sat down beside you, his hand comfortingly on your shoulder, that you have found a family. One that loves you and makes you laugh.


	4. Javier

You had no idea how you ended up in this silly situation. But here you were. Drunkenly playing truth or dare with Karen, Sean, Lenny and - to everyone’s dismay - Uncle. Why ever he had chosen to play along.

You were an absolute mess. Giggling about everything with red cheeks and a blurry vision. But so were the others - well, except Uncle, who just sat there not acting any different than usual. He seemed to enjoy the youth acting like fools, calling you lightweights and amateurs.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Karen fell into a fit of giggles, leaning heavily on Sean who was chiming into her laughter. Lenny sat on the grass, leaning against a crate, his head was thrown back as he groaned. You took another sip of your bottle as you waited for Karen to come up with a task for you since you had chosen ‘dare’ over ‘thruth’.

“Okay, wait! I got something!” The blonde woman suddenly sat straight, a cheeky smile on her red lips. “Aaah,” she cooed, pointing her finger at you, “I dare you to kiss…,” she made a long pause, scanning the camp for a fitting suitor. 

You leaned forward, your elbows propped on your knees, anxiety and excitement stimulating your heart beat.

“To kiss… to kiss… ha! Javier! I dare you to kiss Javier! On the lips!” Karen took the whiskey bottle from Sean’s hands, taking a long sip. “And it has to be a propper kiss. Not one of those you’d give your mother.”

You were too drunk to conceal your feelings. Your already hot face burned now like a beacon, your lips were pressed together into a tight line, your hands were clammy. Oh, how you hated this woman for her ideas.

“Oh, I think she’s gonna chicken out,” Sean laughed, earning himself a glare from you.

“I’m not!” You snapped.

“Well, then show us!” Uncle clapped his hands.

“Come on!” Lenny grumbled from beside you, barely awake.

You groaned but obeyed. You had a reputation to lose. But why did it have to be Javier? The one man you were interested in camp? Either Karen knew or it was pure accident.

As you made your way over to where Javier was sitting, sharpening his knife, you threw one last glare over your shoulder. But the four of them didn’t care, all they did was laugh or jeer. Your fists were clenched at your sides as you approached your victim.

“Oh! Hey,” Javier looked up from his hands, throwing a friendly smile your way. Oh, why was he like that? Your knees felt like jelly.

“Um, Javier,” you brushed a stray strand of hair out of your face, avoiding his eyes as you looked at his shoes instead, “I need to ask you for a favor.” It was more of an attack than a favor if you had to be honest.

“Sure, what is it?” He put the knife on the table, intertwining his hands as he leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees. 

“I, um,” you dared to look over your shoulder back to where the others were. A mistake, you realized, as they made kissing sounds and whistled at you. Your eyes widened as you refrained from making a vulgar gesture and huffed instead. 

“I need to kiss you,” you finally spat out as you looked back at Javier, who had tilted his head, looking at you questioningly. When his eyes widened just like yours seconds ago, you quickly added: “Just one kiss, alright? It’s for a bet. Karen, she-”

“Alright,” Javier said calmly, getting up from his seat, literally strutting over to you.

You twisted your fingers, staring blankly at him, “what?”

“I’ll do it. Just one kiss, right?” He was now right in front of you, his arms hanging loosely at his sides.

You nodded, slowly, still confused. Why was he so, so- Whatever he was. Why? 

You swallowed as you felt his warm hands on your hips. The touch felt really nice and his warmth seeped through your clothes.

His face inched closer and closer, your heartbeat was now achingly fast, your face felt like it was on fire and your hands didn’t know where to go, so they ended up pressed to his chest, clinging to his clothes.

You took one last breath before Javier’s lips were on yours. Whatever you had expected - reality clearly wasn’t like that. It started out gently, but the longer - yes, the longer - the kiss lasted, the deeper you two kissed. You kissed as long as your lungs let you. When you broke apart, you felt a bit lightheaded. Javier let go of your hips, taking your hands into his, thus detaching them from his collar, and let his thumbs stroke over your knuckles.

“In case Karen isn’t convinced, just give the word,” before Javier got back to his work, he planted a soft kiss on your cheek.

Slowly and with several glances over your shoulder back at Javier you headed to the now incredibly silent group.


	5. Charles

You hated wandering around in the dead of night - especially when there was only the last quarter of the moon left in the sky. And of course, you had no light with you. To be honest, it had been early afternoon when you had left camp in order to hunt - there had been no need of a lamp. But one has to take it as it comes and you - well - you had gotten lost.

Charles and Arthur had left camp earlier that day - Dutch wanted them to find a new camping spot as the current one wasn’t save anymore. The other men were busy doing… things. Which left you as the only one willing to hunt. 

At least the deer you had tracked for hours and hours was safely secured to your horse. But that should be your only accomplishment. For you had no clue where the hell you were. 

You knew that you had gone in circles for quite some time - the pond you were at looked very familiar - but that’s it. You had headed west for some time, but then when you had finally spotted prey, you had changed directions pretty often - and being new in the area didn’t help one bit.

Charles would’ve known where to go. Hell, he wouldn’t even have been in this situation, having finished his hunting after an hour - not like you after five. You weren’t even ashamed anymore, only exhausted and scared. You were so far from civilisation that you couldn’t even spot lights in the distance. There was only pitch black darkness, the waning moon and the stars.

You cursed yourself. You should have actually listened when Charles had told you how to navigate using stars instead of getting lost in his sparkling eyes and his soft voice as you two were cuddling beneath the night sky.

Your legs and arms were sore, your horse was tired and the deer had begun to get stiff. Your voice was whiney when you cursed, your anxiety was slowly getting the better of you. Howling sounded in the distance. Shit.

Who could have known you would mess up that much? Not you, for sure.  
As you came to a cluster of trees, you dismounted your horse - you think you’ve been here before. But everything looked the same in this damn darkness.

Were the others looking for you? On the one hand, you’d love to be rescued any minute now; on the other hand… you were hoping not - if only to save a tad of your dignity.

Slowly heading forward you missed a thick branch lying on the ground and stumbled forward - only to end up falling down a slope. The neighing of your horse was drowned out by your yelping and followed by your cursing. The tears were only mere seconds away from being spilt. God, you felt so stupid.

You were too busy trying to calm your prancing horse above you while trying to get up - your ankle hurt pretty badly - to notice the two men approaching.

“There she is! Charles, I found her,” Arthur’s voice echoed through the trees. What followed were hurried footsteps and hushed whispers. When you felt big, warm hands on your shoulders you finally lost it. The tears were streaming down your face as you buried your face in Charles’ chest.

“Arthur, will you get her horse? We’ll meet you back in camp - just give us a minute,” Charles’ chest vibrated as he spoke to the other man, his voice and slow strokes calming you down momentarily. 

“Sure,” he moved past you, climbing up the slope, “it’s going to be okay now.” You nodded against Charles’ chest, knowing Arthur wouldn’t see it.

When you and Charles were the only ones left in the grove, you dared to look up again - met by warm, yet sorrowful brown eyes.

“I think I twisted my ankle,” you sniff. 

“Taima is right over there. I’ll take care of it once we’re back at camp.” He pressed his warm lips against your cold forehead and continued to wipe your tears away. “I’m so glad we found you.”

“I’m so sorry, Charles. I’m so stupid. You keep giving me lessons and what do I do? I can’t-,” Charles interrupted your stammering with another kiss, this time on your cheek. 

“It’s alright. Let’s just get you back to safety now.” He got up from his crouch. “Go with me?”

You managed a small smile. “As long as you hold my hand.”

He chuckled softly and offered you his hand. “Of course.”


	6. Charles

John, Sadie and Charles had just come back from their vendetta. Micah was dead, Sadie and Charles were hurt but alive, Abigail was happy to marry her husband in one piece and you were still keeping your biggest secret. 

Maybe not the best thing, you had to realize as John told all of you at the dinner table that Charles planned to leave for Canada in order to start a family himself. Keeping your feelings for Charles secret since the gang’s days suddenly didn’t seem like a wise decision. you should have told him earlier. But how? And when? While he was carrying pieces of the house? Or when he was out killing some of those Skinner Brothers? There hadn’t been a perfect time and now it seemed like it was too late.

Far too late, you realized when the day had come when Charles was packing his things, ready to leave the farm for good.

All of you were standing on the porch: Abigail, John, Jack, Uncle and you. Falmouth and Charles were nearly ready to leave. All they had to do was say farewell. 

You wrung your hands and chewed on your bottom lip, while your heart throbbed rapidly in your chest. You felt sick. Your hands were clammy. Charles turned once he put the last bag onto Falmouth’s back. Seeing him standing there at the bottom of the stairs, you felt both hot and cold. You still couldn't believe that it came to this. That you missed your chance over and over again.

“Well, this is it. Thank you so much for letting me live with you, John. I hope you and your family will be happy here,” Charles turned to you and Uncle, “Uncle, don’t get on their nerves so much, please.”

“I would never,” the old man huffed, earning himself several laughs from the bystanders.

Charles then said your name, making your heart skip a beat. “I hope you find your happiness as well,” he paused as if he wanted to say something else, but didn’t, “take care of yourself.” Charles looked a little longer at your face than necessary, but you didn’t really notice. Your mind was racing.

You didn’t want to find your happiness with someone else. He was the one you wanted and now he was leaving.

With one last wave, he mounted his horse and slowly turned it around, leaving the farm. The others were shouting their farewells and wished for him, but you stood silent beside them, staring at Charles’ back.

No. No, you couldn’t let him leave. At least not with him not knowing about your feelings for him.

You shakily breathed out before rushing down the stairs, chasing after Charles who was now nearly at the gates. The others were shouting your name, asking what you were doing, but you ignored them. Now or never you told yourself as not to lose your courage.

”Charles!” you shouted and he listened. He turned his horse around, looking at you questioningly.

Breathing heavily, you caught up to him, swallowing heavily. “Charles, there is something I need to tell you.”

You didn’t even wait for him to answer. You needed to get this out and he wouldn’t stop you.

“I wish I was sorry. I really am, but-” you avert your gaze, preferring the sight of your shoes instead of his face, “but you are important to me. I missed my chances over and over, but now that you’re leaving I feel like I have to tell you nonetheless. You are the first thing on my mind, the last thought before sleep, and my truest love. And there is nothing that could change that. Not even eight years apart.” 

Tears had gathered in your eyes, but you wouldn’t cry. Not for telling the truth. When you heard a soft thud you looked up, only to see Charles walking towards you with quick steps.

“You couldn’t have told me this sooner?” His voice was soft, a bit breathless even. He enveloped you in a tight hug, knocking your breath away. Then his hands cupped your face, making you look at him.

“I thought you didn’t feel the same. I was so embarrassed that I wanted to move to another country.” Charles’ thumb brushed over your cheek, making you laugh a bit. “I love you too. For eight years I spent my days and nights thinking of you. And now you just tell me shortly before I’d leave the country that you love me.”

Before you could even open your mouth to mumble an apology were his lips on yours, once again surprising you. In the distance, you could hear the cheering of several people, who were too darn nosy to mind their own business.


	7. Arthur

Arthur had been gone for days. Days! And no one had been sent out to look for him. Dutch and Micah had returned from that meeting with Colm, saying that it had been a trap. Which had been clear from the beginning and yet had they been unprepared. You’d been furious. 

Even more furious when Arthur had finally returned, injured and dazed and close to dying. Miss Grimshaw had tried to send you to sleep after sitting with her and Arthur, but you were not having it. Instead, you argued with her until she decided she had enough and left. 

You were thankful for her help and for her concern, but you needed this. You needed to be sure Arthur was alive, you couldn’t sleep anyways. You needed to be in his presence, too worried he’d leave you again once you’d leave. So, no. You were not leaving his side.

His wounds were now clean and bandaged. His face had been cleaned as well. He had looked like shit if you had to be honest. You felt terrible for not being able to spare him this torture.

The sun was slowly rising, your head hurt from the lack of sleep and your eyes hurt. But you still weren’t planning to leave him. A cup of coffee would suffice.

You were currently bushing some of his hair strands out of his face. He was sweating and finching in his sleep. Arthur’s fever was one of your biggest worries. Many had died of gangrene before. Hopefully not Arthur.

You put a wet piece of cloth onto his forehead, trying to cool his incredibly warm skin. You noticed then that his eyes were open, he was searching your face. Arthur looked confused, maybe even a bit delusional. You put a cold hand on his cheek.

“Arthur, how are you feeling?” You asked, even though you could see he wasn’t well.

He groaned and then mumbled your name, his hand then clenched around your wrist. “You know,” Arthur winced as he turned to get a better look of you from where he lied on his cot, “I want you to know that it was always you.” 

You furrowed your brows, trying to put one and one together. “What?”

“It was always you. I love you. You’re the one I want to grow old with. If I make it-”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. You’ll live. I’ll take care of that,” you smiled, but felt the tears welling up in your eyes. He had told you that he loved you before. But never that he saw you as the one. You felt like Mary was an obstacle, always hindering Arthur to move on. 

Arthur’s eyes fluttered shut, but he continued to mumble something incomprehensible. The grip around your wrist loosened but only to tighten around your hand again.

You brushed the tears away with your free hand, leaning forward to plant a kiss on his nose, before continuing to watch over him.


	8. Arthur

“Hey, psst,” cold hands were on your shoulders, but you only groaned and held the blanket in an iron grip. You didn’t want to open your eyes. Not now. Not any time soon. You were still too tired.

“Wake up,” now one of the hands was cupping your face, a calloused thumb brushing over your cheekbone. You felt soft lips on yours. Well, alright. Now you felt like opening your eyes. 

“What is it, Arthur? Do you know how early it is?” You blinked rapidly, the dim light of the sun shining through a gap in your tent entrance onto your face. Arthur was sitting beside you on the edge of your cot. He was clad in a thick coat, his cheeks slightly red from the cold.

Even though you were out of the snowy mountains, the mornings were still pretty chilly. You shivered, even under your thick blanket. 

“I know it’s early, but you have to see this sunrise,” he whispered. Then he got up, the cot moving under the shift of weight, and rummaged around in your things until he found your coat and shawl. “Come on, darlin’.” 

You sighed, rubbing your eyes in frustration. Sometimes you could but wondered about Arthur and his ideas. At your reaction, he threw your clothes onto your face. “I’ll wait outside.”

Shaking your head, you surrendered and started to get dressed. One second without your blanket was enough to give you goosebumps. 

You cursed as you stepped outside. It was really cold. But Arthur was right at your side, sharing his warmth with you, his arm looping through yours as he guided you over to the slope close to camp. What you saw there was absolutely worth the cold and early wake-up call.

The sun seemed within your reach, so big and bright. And all these colors! The sky looked like a painter couldn’t decide which tone to use to depict this day. You leaned your head against Arthur’s shoulder as he put his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to his side.

“Alright, alright,” you sighed, “you’re forgiven.” You could feel the man’s body vibrate as he chuckled. Then you felt his lips press against the top of your head. The two of you continued to stand like this, arm in arm, for as long as the peace lasted.


	9. Dutch

Things had gotten down. Way down. And it didn’t seem like it would get any better in the near future. If ever. 

People had died - good people had died. People you’ll miss dearly because they had been family to you.

Everyone was feeling it - even if they didn’t let it show openly - the gang’s time was coming to an end. 

And Dutch, well, you weren’t sure anymore. You had loved him. Very much. But seeing him now, standing between the ruins of his life-long dream, left you with pity, sorrow and a stale taste on your tongue. 

You fought - quite often lately. But you still slept in the same bed, not able to get some rest without the other.

You mostly kept to yourself because you didn’t really know what to do once Dutch would start again with one of his plans. You tried to keep the remnants of the camp alive with doing chores. You could think in peace - no one would bother you.

And boy, did you need time to think. Think about your past, your present and your future. About your own future as well as Dutch’s. Did you want to spend it together? Or would you leave the camp behind, starting a new life?

You missed the times when everything was easy and you knew you could trust Dutch with your life. But those times were in the past now, you realized with an aching heart.

You were sitting on the cot in your and Dutch’s tent, mending socks and minding your own business when you heard the booming voice of Dutch shutting someone up just on the other side of the canvas. It had been so sudden, that you jumped, nearly stabbing your finger with the needle. Your pulse quickened as you heard Dutch rounding the tent, his steps getting closer and closer to your current position.

You didn’t like dealing with an enraged Dutch. Normally, you would’ve tried to calm him, soothe his nerves. But lately - well, let’s say avoiding him had been your best approach. Everything you said could upset him further. Helping neither you nor him.

You didn’t look up as Dutch was towering now over you, making you appear even smaller than you already were in comparison to him. You sat straight, keeping your eyes glued on your work, finishing the last few stitches on the sock with skill. 

“Traitors. They don’t trust me. All I need is a plan. But-,” he huffed, pacing in front of you, “I need more time.” You weren’t sure if he was talking to you or to himself. Honestly, you didn’t even know if he was aware of your presence.

He surprised you by sitting down beside you on the cot. Putting aside your finished work, you folded your hands in your lap, not knowing if you should touch him. When you finally looked at his face, you saw him pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. You bit your bottom lip - a nervous habit of yours lately. Before you could come to a decision of what to do with Dutch, he buried his face in his hands, sighed deeply. 

You were shocked by how broken and tired he looked. So vulnerable, so old. You wrung your hands in your lap, your voice was not more than a whisper: ”Dutch?”

“Do you even still love me?” his voice wasn’t louder than yours. It was like none of you wanted to scare the other one off.

You swallowed, hard. This was the one question that frightened you the most. Thinking about its answer hurt you the most. Because you weren’t sure anymore. 

There had been a time, not even that long ago, where you would have laughed. Disbelieving that the answer wasn’t clear. Everyone knew you were head over heels for Dutch, would go to the end of the world for Dutch - side by side with him, preferably. But now that you had travelled that distance, standing at the edge of the world, you weren’t sure about anything anymore.

Seconds passed - dead silent seconds. Only interrupted by another sigh of Dutch followed by the rustling of cloth as he was getting up from the cot without another word.

“Dutch-” you began, your voice breaking before you could continue, but he was already gone again.


	10. Arthur

You had seen them. Walking side by side through Saint Denis’ streets and back alleys. Which was on its own making your blood boil. He had said it was over, he had told you he and Mary were done. And yet here he was, helping her once again. Your fists were clenched, your jaw set. 

The last straw, though, was when you saw them huddled up to one another. Arthur pressing Mary to the wall, arms caging her in, heads lowered. Seconds passed. Seconds in which you could hear your blood streaming through your ears.

Even though you had only seen his back, you have had enough. With no second thought you turned around, blind in your rage, and accidentally bumped into someone. They shouted at you for your lack of mindfulness, but you didn’t answer. You didn’t even notice that Arthur and Mary had separated, startled by the sudden noise. You didn’t notice how Arthur’s eyes widened as he saw that it was you who stormed away. All you did was bolting. 

You ran to your horse, mounted and spurred it without looking back. What were they doing in that back alley? Did they kiss? You felt the tears welling up. But you weren’t sad, not really. Anger. That was what drove you. Anger and the feeling of betrayal. How many times did you tell him you loved him? How many times did he tell you he loved you? How many times did you lie together?

It all felt like it weighed nothing. Not against Mary’s charm. Or whatever you could call that power she had over Arthur. All she had to do was snap her fingers and he would come and do as she wishes. Like a trained monkey.

Some people were shouting at you as you stormed past them. Once you were in the clear, the hooves of your mount clattering on the wooden bridge, you slowed down a bit. Taking a deep breath, you rubbed the tears from your cheeks. You hated her. And him. How could he do this to you? 

While you continued on your way back to camp - was it camp you were heading? - you cursed both of the lovebirds under your breath, not really paying attention to your surroundings, like should do.

They came quick. Closing in on you. Making your horse unsaddle you. Lemoyne Raiders. You tried to run for cover, gain some distance so you could aim and shoot at them properly. But all you got were mere seconds to pull your weapon and shoot at the closest of them. The bullet didn’t hit him. He was quick enough to twist your arm. 

He punched you in the gut. Once, twice. Until you were on your knees, cowering before him and his friends. You felt a pair of boots in your sides, then your head hit the dusty and dry ground. Your gun was aimed at yourself by one of those thugs. 

You weren’t sure what part of your body didn’t hurt. You couldn’t move your arms nor your legs. You just stared up at them, as they kept kicking you, spitting on you, cursing the van der Linde gang. You opened your mouth. But what did you want to do? Ask for mercy? Scream for help? Or just wail? 

You did neither. Not even when the shot echoed through the woods, ringing in your ears, rattling your body. Then the numbness came. It felt like a trillion needles pierced your skin. All the sounds around you were gone. The men around you were just blurry shades of different colours.

You felt like a fish on land, mouth opening and closing again and again. Your eyes felt wet. Your stomach felt wet. A hot sensation ran from your navel to your lower stomach. Then you felt cold. So cold, all of a sudden. You shivered. Your mouth went dry. Your vision blackened. And you felt so heavy.

—–

He had abandoned Mary as soon as he had seen you storm away, ignoring her indignant screaming. He had shouted your name, over and over. He had shoved people gruffly away as he tried to make his way through the crowds on Saint Denis’ streets. But to no avail. You were riding past him, not looking where you were going. Your eyes wild.

Arthur had mounted his horse as quickly as possible and just chased after you. He felt like an idiot. It was like once he had laid his eyes back on you, he realized how stupid he had been. How stupid he had been to follow Mary. Doing his past mistake over and over again. 

He tried to follow you as best as he could, but you had a headstart. And your horse was by far faster than his. But you had left some remarkable tracks. Those he could follow easily. 

He had heard the gunshot. Had seen the small gathering in the dark of the woods. Had seen the huddled bundle on the ground. Your horse had stormed past him as Arthur was getting closer and closer. Three men were towering over you, laughing, spitting, cursing. 

Arthur was calm as he unlatched his rifle and aimed. He remained calm as he shot two of them in the head. And he was ever so calm as he shot the last one, the one with your still smoldering gun in his hand, in the legs. 

He dismounted, whipping out his hunting knife and stalked closer to the wailing pig. He said no word as he hit him over and over with the handle of his knife. You had chosen the engravings. A stag, proud and vigilant - and yet he couldn’t save you. All he could do was avenge you. A poor excuse.

Once the man was dead, a bloodied mess on the ground. Arthur walked over to you. His legs suddenly shaking. He felt so unsteady and nearly stumbled to the ground. His hands were red and bruised and shaking. He didn’t know where and how to touch you as he kneeled down beside you.

Your empty eyes stared at the forest canopy above your heads, your skin was bruised, your shirt and trousers soaked with blood. Your clothes were muddy where their boots hit you. 

Arthur carefully, so bloody carefully, took your head in his hands, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs, leaving red strokes behind. He started to weep. First silently, but then he got louder and louder, ending in an earth-rattling scream. Tears fell down his cheeks, onto your face and neck. He pressed his forehead against yours, closed his eyes and stayed like this until Charles found him hours later. Because he had been mere moments too slow. Because Arthur had once again fallen for Mary.


	11. Micah

Ah, Saint Denis. City of money. At least that’s what it felt like for you right now. The silver pocket watch as well as a couple of rings, fancy pocket mirrors and bracelets put a pleasant weight to your pockets. Their owners hadn’t looked like they’d miss them, so you took it upon you to free them from their little trinkets.

Dutch might’ve told you to keep a low profile, but then again wasn’t he the one who complained the most about all the money the gang didn’t have but needed so desperately? Before you had left Shady Bell you had told the girls where you were headed, since the men were already at Saint Denis on the lookout for a worthy target. Maybe you’d run into them. 

Rounding a corner near the docks, a light skip to your step and a small smile plastered on your lips, you didn’t notice your pursuer who had followed you since your last theft a few blocks earlier. There weren’t many people about, one more reason why you should’ve easily spotted the skulking man. But your good performance had gone straight to your head - a beginner’s mistake you would’ve normally chastised others for. It seemed like you were out of practice.

You made another big mistake just then as you decided to take a shortcut you had discovered earlier: a dark alleyway cutting through a manufactory complex. The air was cold and humid between the high brick buildings and it was so shaded that the wetness clung to the stones and fugues. It smelled of faeces and mould.

As you heard another set of shoes echoing through the alley, you turned your head ever so slightly, trying not to raise any suspicion. You realized your mistake right then with a racing heart, cursing yourself for your haughtiness when a big hand clasped your upper arm.

He pushed you against the clammy wall, your head hitting the stone with a thud. Stars shimmered in your vision, not helping you in any way. Panic started to build up in your stomach, leaving a stale taste on your tongue. The man’s terrible breath hit you even harder than the pain in your head just a second before. 

His large hand pinned you to the wall, while his other one held a pistol to your head. His dark eyes looked you over before he barked at you with a deep gruff voice: “Where’s the stuff? Hand it over, lady, and I let you go - if you’re nice.” His laugh made you shiver.

You were absolutely screwed. What were the odds that he’d let you go in one piece? He didn’t seem like the nice type of thug, that’s for sure. Your heart felt like it would break into a million pieces any minute now, and your throat was constricted. Shit, shit, SHIT. What an idiot you were. The man’s hand tightened around your wrists, the gun clicked as he cocked it. Tears started to well up in your eyes.

But you wouldn’t cry for this prick. Didn’t need to. Because then, as the click of another gun echoed through the dark alleyway, another man stepped into view - well, into your view. You would recognize that white hat everywhere. Even in this bloody back lane.

“I suggest you get your hands off of that lady and get the hell out of here, cowpoke.” The fellow’s eyes grew wide as he stared right through you, his mouth agape. The hammer clicked once again and the barrel was lifted from your forehead.

The thug raised his hands, getting shoved towards the end of the alley by Micah. The last thing you were to see of him was him sprinting down the streets. You took a shaky deep breath, noticing how much you actually trembled. You tasted blood - you must’ve bitten your cheek pretty badly when you’d hit the wall.

“Are you alright?” You felt Micah’s hands on your shoulders, carefully rubbing up and down. You nodded, your voice too weak to function properly just yet. You hugged yourself trying to keep it together. “Thank you,” you said, after another deep breath. He pulled you close, pressing his lips onto your hair.

“Let’s get out of here.” His hand landed on your waste, holding you close, guiding you back to the open street. You mirrored him, holding close onto his middle, clinging to his coat as Micah led you over to Baylock, getting you back to camp.


	12. Micah

Your lungs and eyes burned, your heart throbbed hard against your chest, your throat was dry and your legs were sore from running. And as if you weren’t already struggling to get back to camp as fast as you could, the headwind that blew against your weak body wasn’t making things easier for you.

The moon was high above you, guiding you through the woods and over the fields. It was cold and the miserable piece of fabric - all that was left of your dress - didn’t do much to cover you up.

Your breath was going fast, so fast you feared your lungs would burst. You stumbled over a bump on the ground, barely managing to keep from falling flat to the ground. Your feet were bare and you didn’t want to know how much damage nature had done to your legs. You must be covered in scratches and cuts - besides those these damned O’Driscolls had given you.

God, you desperately hoped they weren’t after you. The tears started to well up again at the thought of them and what they had done to you. How they had grinned at you, how they had touched you, how they had hurt you. All you wanted was to scream, but you couldn’t, not anymore. You were too weak. The last bit of strength you had left had to be used to get back to the others. As fast as possible.

Your head hurt incredibly much. But you could see lights in the near distance. You would get there. Biting your tongue and rubbing away the tears, you gave everything you had left of energy to reach the camp and the others.

“Who’s there?” John shouted as he heard your approach. 

You stepped into his sight, arms held high, too breathless to speak, nearly collapsing in front of him and his rifle.

What followed was a series of events you couldn’t recall later. People were shouting, you were carried by someone, your eyes closed for a moment, your breath slowed.

When you opened your eyes again, your body finally realizing in how much pain it was, you were facing several worried faces.

Miss Grimshaw was closest, she was trying to observe your wounds while shooing the men away who were arguing about what they should do now - find the bastards that had done that or secure the camp in case they planned an attack - Mary-Beth offered you something to drink, kneeling beside you. Abigail held your head on her lap, brushing your hair out of your face. 

When you tried to lift your head to accept the water from Mary-Beth you caught a glimpse of your body and winced. Your ‘dress’ was ripped apart, showing your bloodied skin and several bruises and cuts. Besides the blood, you were covered in dirt and mud and what not. You let out a heartbreaking sob, your underlip quivered and your hands started to shake as they took hold of Mary-Beth’s hand.

Those who had been arguing, shouting or whispering were suddenly completely silent. Their eyes on you as if you had just risen from the dead. Maybe you had just done that?

“Leave her some space! The girl can’t breath,“ Miss Grimshaw hissed as Dutch, Arthur, Hosea and - to everyone’s surprise - Micah crowded around you. Abigail’s comforting grip on your shoulder’s intensified and Mary-Beth’s thumb drew circles on your hand - both of them showing you support, as did Susan, who guarded you like a lioness protected her cub. 

Hosea and Arthur kept their distance, intimidated by the three fierce women, but neither Dutch nor Micah even batted an eye at them, focusing on you. Dutch seemed cold and calculating - apparently already thinking about how to pay the O’Driscolls back - whereas Micah was… He was furious, not at all able to contain his feelings. But you didn’t really notice. You were still caught up with the last few days, with the torture and pain - mentally as well as physically.

“Where are they hiding?” “How many of those bastards were there?” “How did they get you?” “Was Colm there?” “Did you tell them anything?” “What did they ask you?” The questions just spilt out of them, driving you insane. You tried to answer, but all you could do was croak brief answers.

“What did they do to you?” This question was spoken with so much anger - not directed at you but at them - and the only one that Micah had asked you so far. His sharp eyes were focused on yours. His hands clenched to fists, his knuckles white. 

As you told Micah what had happened to you, the tears streamed down your face, but your voice was clear as day. You weren’t broken, you were angry, furious, mad. And somehow, seeing Micah’s face twitch as you painted the picture for all of them, goaded you on. The tears stopped and you were left fuming with rage.

When you were finished, he got up, his eyes still glued on you, his fists still clenched. “Coming with me, Morgan? Dutch? Anyone else?”

“Micah…” Dutch began, but the man didn’t falter.

“I’m not asking if I’m allowed to go, Dutch. I’m asking if anyone is joining me to pay these bastards a visit.” Micah had turned his head to look at the gang’s leader, his voice dangerously calm.

Dutch must’ve noticed in which dangerous mood Micah was and just nodded before shouting commands to the other men. You swallowed hard as Miss Grimshaw decided to move you into your tent so she could finally see to your wounds.

But before the men left and you reached your tent, guided by Abigail and Susan, Micah approached you once more. 

“Mister Bell, if you could please-” but Micah ignored Miss Grimshaw. He stood before you, his head pushed up so you could see his face properly, but he didn’t say anything. You cast him a questioning look, waiting for him to do something. But he didn’t do or say anything. He only looked at you with an unfamiliar expression on his face. You noticed too late that his hand was halfway lifted to touch your face as you were led towards your tent by the women at your side. The last things you heard were the whinnies of the horses and the shouting of the men as they left the camp in a rush.

———–

When you woke up in the morning it was due to the commotion outside. Tillie, who must’ve released Karen from keeping watch over you, stood before the entrance to your tent, peaking outside through a gap.

“What’s wrong? Tillie?” Your voice sounded like crap. All hoarse and raucous.

“The men, they’re back,” the girl came back to your side, her face neutral, but you knew she was as antsy as you to know what had happened in the night.

“Can you help me get up?” You leaned on your elbows, trying not to look too pained as every muscle screamed inside you. 

“But Miss Grimshaw said-” she hesitated.

“Tillie,” you grumbled and grabbed her arm when she finally gave in.

Mary-Beth bolted inside your tent then, jittery as ever. “Micah- He, he’s killed them. Arthur has just told me he had gone completely mad. Took them out one by one, all alone!” She stopped, looking at you full of excitement. “Come on you, let’s get you out of here!” 

Leaning heavily on their shoulders you barely made it outside your tent when you heard the furious bickering. 

“Miss Jackson! Miss Gaskill! Why isn’t she in her tent? She needs rest! And you Mister Bell-” But Susan was ignored once again by Micah as he rounded her and approached you. 

You stumbled towards him, weak on your own legs, and threw yourself into his arms. Micah was stiff for a moment, not returning the hug. But when you pulled away sheepishly, thanking him with a whisper, his strong arms pulled you closer to him, against his chest. You hid your head in the crook of his neck for a few seconds before you gathered all your courage and kissed him.

Maybe it was a bit rushed and unwise, but you had held your feelings back for long enough. Against all odds, you liked Micah. Very much so. And what he had done for you - you were glad to have him. 

At first, it was onesided and chaste. But when Micah finally returned the kiss, the kiss got deeper and deeper. His hand cupped your face, his thumb running over your not-bruised cheek. Maybe you stood there a bit too long, arm in arm, because when the both of you finally pulled back, the others had left, returning to whatever they found more appealing than watching you two finally admitting your feelings for each other.


	13. Dutch

“Don’t leave me. Don’t you dare leave me,” his voice broke as he was close to losing his nerves.

You sat in silence, not looking at Dutch’s furrowed brows or his clenched fists. Or his sad eyes. You were tired of seeing him like this. It hurt you as much as did not knowing what to do about it. 

You wanted to help him - you had told him that many times - but Dutch just didn’t want to listen. No, instead he had screamed at you. Had told you that you had no faith, that you doubted him like the others. What hurt the most was that you thought he was right.

“Dutch, I-” you showed him your open palms, trying to calm him - to show him you were no threat.

“You’re just like them! I need someone I can trust, someone I can rely on and not-,” his hands gestured at you while his voice had risen. Surely the rest of the camp could follow your conflict - even if they didn’t want to.

“You changed, Dutch. You’ve changed!” Tears started to veil your vision. You wouldn’t cry. You couldn’t show your weakness now. That he was your weakness. “I don’t recognize you anymore. Why won’t you let me help you?”

He scoffed, turning away from you, running his fingers through his dark hair. You wanted to embrace him, tell him you still loved him. But you were too scared. 

He had locked you out. And there was no way to get back inside.

At least none you could see.


	14. Arthur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an alternative version for Chapter 10

You had seen them. Walking side by side through Saint Denis’ streets and back alleys. Which was on its own making your blood boil. He had said it was over, he had told you he and Mary were done. And yet here he was, helping her once again. Your fists were clenched, your jaw set.

The last straw, though, was when you saw them huddled up to one another. Arthur pressing Mary to the wall, arms caging her in, heads lowered. Seconds passed. Seconds in which you could hear your blood streaming through your ears.

Even though you had only seen his back, you have had enough. With no second thought you turned around, blind in your rage, and accidentally bumped into someone. They shouted at you for your lack of mindfulness, but you didn’t answer. You didn’t even notice that Arthur and Mary had separated, startled by the sudden noise. You didn’t notice how Arthur’s eyes widened as he saw that it was you who stormed away. All you did was bolting.

You ran to your horse, mounted and spurred it without looking back. What were they doing in that back alley? Did they kiss? You felt the tears welling up. But you weren’t sad, not really. Anger. That was what drove you. Anger and the feeling of betrayal. How many times did you tell him you loved him? How many times did he tell you he loved you? How many times did you lie together?

It all felt like it weighed nothing. Not against Mary’s charm. Or whatever you could call that power she had over Arthur. All she had to do was snap her fingers and he would come and do as she wishes. Like a trained monkey.

Some people were shouting at you as you stormed past them. Once you were in the clear, the hooves of your mount clattering on the wooden bridge, you slowed down a bit. Taking a deep breath, you rubbed the tears from your cheeks. You hated her. And him. How could he do this to you?

While you continued on your way back to camp - was it camp you were heading? - you cursed both of the lovebirds under your breath, not really paying attention to your surroundings, like should do.

They came quickly. Closing in on you. Making your horse unsaddle you. Lemoyne Raiders. You tried to run for cover, gain some distance so you could aim and shoot at them properly. But all you got were mere seconds to pull your weapon and shoot at the closest of them. The bullet didn’t hit him. He was quick enough to twist your arm.

He punched you in the gut. Once, twice. Until you were on your knees, cowering before him and his friends. You felt a pair of boots in your sides, then your head hit the dusty and dry ground. Your gun was aimed at yourself by one of those thugs.

You weren’t sure what part of your body didn’t hurt. You couldn’t move your arms nor your legs. You just stared up at them, as they kept kicking you, spitting on you, cursing the van der Linde gang. You opened your mouth. But what did you want to do? Ask for mercy? Scream for help? Or just wail?

You did neither. Not even when the gun in front of your face clicked. Not even when the shot echoed through the woods, ringing in your ears. You had closed your eyes, trembling like a leaf. Then one of the men dropped to the ground. Another shot echoed through the woods, another man fell. This time right in front of you. A red streak running from his forehead down to his eyes. 

Headshot. 

One more shot. One more body. You had flinched each and every time when the sound of a gun sounded. Your heart throbbed in your chest. Your blood swooshed so loudly in your ears you couldn’t hear anything else. Not even the rustling and crunching of the heavy boots that came towards you. You were too busy with yourself. Too shaken up, too rattled, too broken.

—–

He had abandoned Mary as soon as he had seen you storm away, ignoring her indignant screaming. He had shouted your name, over and over. He had shoved people gruffly away as he tried to make his way through the crowds on Saint Denis’ streets. But to no avail. You were riding past him, not looking where you were going. Your eyes wild.

Arthur had mounted his horse as quickly as possible and just chased after you. He felt like an idiot. It was like once he had laid his eyes back on you, he realized how stupid he had been. How stupid he had been to follow Mary. Doing his past mistake over and over again.

He tried to follow you as best as he could, but you had a headstart. And your horse was by far faster than his. But you had left some remarkable tracks. Those he could easily follow.

He had heard the gunshot. Had seen the small gathering in the dark of the woods. Had seen the huddled bundle on the ground. Your horse had stormed past him as Arthur was getting closer and closer. Three men were towering over you, laughing, spitting, cursing.

Arthur was calm as he unlatched his rifle and aimed. He remained calm as he shot two of them in the head. And he was ever so calm as he shot the last one, the one with your gun in his hand, just as the first two right between the eyes.

He dismounted, his legs shaking so much he nearly collapsed to the ground. His rifle still in his hands, just in case more Lemoyne Raiders appeared between the trees. His blue eyes were fixated on you, you were the only thing that counted right now. The only thing that ever counted. Arthur walked over to you, hastily, unsteadily. But in the end, he made it.

He collapsed beside you. His hands shaking. You flinched but recovered quickly when you recognized him. He didn’t know where to touch you. You looked so fragile, so broken, so small. And why was that? Because of him and his stupidity. He didn’t deserve you, he knew that. You were too good for some dumbass like him. He caused you trouble and pain.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, darlin’,” his voice was hoarse, choked up. No wonder, the tears were already in his eyes, threatening to fall. His calloused hand brushed your cheek, your swollen cheek. You were breathing heavily, your chest lifting and sinking rapidly. He stared at you for a long moment, taking all your scratched, bruises and wounds in. Every little thing those pigs had done to you. 

He was angry. He set his jaw, biting his tongue, nearly drawing blood. He was so terribly angry. With those raiders and especially with himself. Slowly, Arthur shook his head, the tears now streaming down his face. You weren’t saying a word, only staring up at him like a doe caught in the lamplight. Your eyes were wet as well, the tears leaving a clean trace on your blood-caked face.

Slowly, carefully, he leaned his forehead against yours, weeping against you. So did you. You clutched at his sleeves, his arms, squeezing him as tightly as you could muster in your weak state.

“I’m so sorry. I was stupid. I’m so sorry,” Arthur repeated that over and over again. Holding you as close as you would allow him to. You shook your head fiercely, your vision spinning while doing so, but that wouldn’t stop you.

“I love you, you idiot. Don’t you see?” Your voice was so raspy, sounding like a piece of chalk against a blackboard. You took his face in your hands, every part of your body screamed against the motion, but you didn’t care. You made Arthur look at you. Look directly at your bloodied and bruised face, not at all resembling your usual self.

“I love you. But you gotta make a decision, Arthur. For good,” you sternly looked into his eyes. 

“I’m not going to leave you ever again, darlin’. I love you too, though I don’t deserve you. I’m too much of an idiot.” 

You managed to crack a smile. A weak one, but a smile nonetheless. It cost you a lot of strength to pull him closer, this big dumb man, but once you had him close, you pressed your lips against his. His warm big hand was on the nape of your neck in no time, stabilizing you, caressing you. Making you feel a little bit safer on this battlefield.

Arthur held you against his chest after you broke apart breathlessly, making sure he could lift you without hurting you further. Your lips had left a red trace of blood on his, but he didn’t care, didn’t notice. He would get you out of here and make sure none of this would ever happen again.


	15. Javier

You liked Javier, you really did. From your first day in camp until now. He was kind, cared for everyone and he played the guitar like no one else you knew. He had a beautiful voice, and you were always enjoying the moments he spent talking to you. Your heart would always beat faster when he was smiling at you, laughing with the others, singing a song at the campfire. Your hands would get sweaty whenever Javier was matched with you to complete a task. Maybe - yes, maybe - you liked him a bit more than you were supposed to be…

But was the feeling mutual? Hell no - surely not. At least, that’s what you thought.

You were sitting alone at the edge of the camp, rifle in your hand as you were keeping an eye out for intruders. The sun was already setting - you’ve been here for hours and you were getting hungrier with every minute passing. Whoever your relief was - they’re late. You sighed heavily, rubbing your eye with your free hand.

“That boring, chica?”, you knew that voice. And as soon as you heard it, you sat up straighter, pushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear in the process.

“Ah, just the usual,” you turn around, smiling at Javier who’s leaning against a tree not far from you, his arms crossed over his chest. He wore no hat and the sun’s light made it appear as if he had a halo shining around his head. Your smile grew even wider at the sight of it. Oh, how you longed to-

“Mind if I join you?”, he interrupted your thoughts and pointed at the space beside you on the stone. You hadn’t even noticed until then that he had an untouched bowl of Pearson’s stew with him.

You shook your head, cursing your butterflies that were already making loops in your stomach - nothing had happened, goddamn it! The man sat down beside you, maybe a bit too close but you would be the last to complain about it, and offered you the food. “I thought you’re hungry. I kept you waiting, didn’t I?” 

So he was your relief. Well, let’s just say that you weren’t that fed up anymore.  
“Oh, thanks, Javier,” you replied sheepishly and took the bowl from him. Slowly you began eating, while Javier took the gun from your lap, his eyes scanning the area. 

It was a peaceful silence between the two of you, there was no awkward need to say anything. That’s what you loved most - that you two could just enjoy each other’s company in quietness. 

You finished eating and put the bowl aside, your stomach was feeling a little better now. Javier then turned to you, his eyes bearing an unknown look. You mustered up all your courage to finally get this thing between you two a step further into the clearing.

“You know, rica, I always liked-” “Javier, I know it sounds silly -” 

The two of you fell silent, just before bursting into a fit of awkward chuckles. Great, you already felt the heat creeping up your neck.

“I thought, we could- maybe-,” he stopped, his eyes flashing in the last sunbeams as they linger on your lips. He suddenly grins, a chuckle escaping him, before he averts his eyes again, looking back ahead.

Well, that surely was enough to make you lose your mind. You shifted in your seat, nervously. “What? What did you want to say?”

“Ay, it was nothing. A silly thing that came to my mind.” He didn’t look at you as he said this dismissively. But you had already taken the bait.

“Javier-,” you began, but he only interrupted you. “You know, you have a beautiful voice, right?”

“What?”, you weren’t sure anymore what exactly was happening right now.

“And your eyes. Has anyone ever told you that they sparkle when you laugh?”

“I- Are you flirting with me?” You really weren’t sure. What exactly was he doing?

“You finally noticed?”, he was grinning by now. Javier was suddenly so close.

Every inch of your skin was tingling. Your hands were clinging to your dress as if it was your lifeline. Your faces moved closer and closer together. Your eyes looking from his eyes to his lips and back again. Javier’s hand found its way to your knee, the warmth of it radiating through the fabric to your skin.

And just before your lips met, he stopped. “I think you might be my soulmate, rica,” he whispered. 

You couldn’t keep yourself from rolling your eyes. “Please just kiss me already.” 

And then you did.


	16. Dutch

“May I ask for this dance, milady?” You looked up from your book as you were trying to read in the dim candlelight of Dutch’s tent. The owner of the said tent was standing in front of you, head lowered, a hand offered for you to take. A small smile was playing around Dutch’s lips as he tilted his head, waiting for your answer.

The gramophone was playing already - something you hadn’t noticed due to your focused reading. A blush colored your cheeks as you tried to withhold a snort while you bowed your head as ladylike as possible. 

“Of course, dear sir,” you put your book aside and accepted Dutch’s hand. It was warm to the touch - quite pleasing with the chilly night breeze softly blowing around your bodies. 

He led you by the hand outside his tent, over to the grassy dance floor near the music. “I trust a slow waltz is to the lady’s liking?” Dutch’s hand free hand found its way to the small of your back. His dark eyes were glinting in the firelight as they were staring right into yours.

“Indeed it is,” you said as posh as possible while your hand landed on your partner’s shoulder. 

“What a relief!” Arm in arm, you both chuckled softly as you were swaying to the music.

Dutch whirled you around and dipped you whenever he saw fit. You giggled, enjoying the light-heartedness of the situation. A nice change to the usually dull days. 

The song turned slower - something that Dutch took as an opportunity to pull you closer, your bodies now meeting each other.

“When all of this is over, I’ll take you to a proper dance,” his breath was warm on your face, his beard scratching your cheek from time to time as you continued to move slowly along to the song. 

“That‘d be nice,” your hand traveled from Dutch’s shoulder to his back, fingers playing with his vest. You didn’t know when that time would come - or if it would come at all - but for the moment you were satisfied with dreaming about it. How you two would be dressed in fine clothes, drinking champagne, with no one who would hunt you, with no one to disturb your happiness. Dutch and you could be truly happy. Happy and at peace. 

As you enjoyed the presence of each other in silence, caught up in your thoughts, time flew by and the song ended. Just like your dance. 

Dutch twirled you for one last time, his hand lingering on yours, pulling you close to press a soft, gentle kiss to the back of your hand. 

“Until the next time, milady,” he purred against your skin, his eyes flashing mischievously up at you.


	17. Eagle Flies

You hadn’t seen him in a while. No need to say that you were ecstatic when you heard Eagle Flies was coming for a visit.

Yes, you had feelings for him. A lot actually. But did you intend to tell him about them? No. No? Not in the near future at least…

When you heard his horse approaching, you dropped everything and approached him purposefully.

“Good to see you,” he greeted you while dismounting his horse. You beaming at him, blinking against the bright sun. Once he stood before you two hesitated, smiling at each other, before making a move to hug each other. 

Yet you two accidentally bumped your heads together. More precisely your faces. Alright, your lips brushed.

Thunderstruck, you pulled back, your eyes wide in shock. Your face heated up. Eagle Flies didn’t look less surprised. His mouth was slightly agape, his eyes glued on your lip.

Before you could stutter an apology, you felt his lips once again on yours. This time with a lot more purpose - and force. You needed a second to adjust to the situation, but once you did, you closed your eyes, smiling against his lips.


	18. John

You were trying to fold the laundry. Emphasis on trying. Thanks to John and his incredibly persistent attempts to distract you. 

At first, he had just sat beside you, watching you. Then he had started to get closer, his legs touching yours, his shoulders touching yours - preventing your arm to move without bumping into his side.

After that, he had put his arm around your, his fingers tickling or pinching your side, making you flinch against him. At which he only chuckled.

At your ‘John, I have to finish this or Susan’ll have my head,’ he only started to hide his face in the crook of your neck. You could feel his stubble and his smile. The jerk.

You ‘accidentally’ elbowed his stomach, but John didn’t even wince. All he did was to start planting kisses to your neck, slowly wandering up to your jaw. His nose would occasionally brush against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

Sighing defeatedly, put your hands in your lap, leaving the clothes where they were on the table. You turn your head, yours and John’s face dangerously close, and lifted one eyebrow. He cocked his head, eyeing you innocently.

“Go on,” you sigh, rolling your eyes at him as he smiles smugly at you before capturing your lips properly this time.


	19. Javier

Javier was sitting with you, huddled together as you tried to keep each other warm. Colter was horribly cold. You started to forget what warmth felt like. The door opened, snowflakes entering the cabin. While you were hiding your face in the crook of Javier's neck, trying to escape the cold whiff, Abigail tried to convince Arthur to look for John, who’s been missed for some time now.

“Javier?”, Hosea said, making Javier look up from you. “Yes?” You looked up as well, instantly missing the bit of warmth he had bestowed you. “Javier, will you ride out with Arthur to take a look for John?”

He sighed beside you, his hand patting your leg. “Now?” Javier looked at you questioningly.

You nodded, smiling weakly at him. “Go on, I’ll be fine.” You jerked your chin towards Abigail and Arthur. “John needs you more.” 

“Alright,” he moved closer, kissing your cheek before getting on his legs.

——–

“We need some help here!”

You hurried after Abigail outside. The cold wind tearing on your clothes as you helped the other woman to get John off the horse. But Bill and Lenny were faster.

Over their shoulders, you smiled at Javier, who rounded his horse to coil his arm around your waist. 

“Good to see you’re back,” you patted his chest, “and in one piece.”

“You know me, mi amor,” He smiled as he pressed his lips on yours.


	20. Eagle Flies

You were bored and in dire need for some attention. Maybe you felt a tad sorry about it, but it clearly wasn’t enough to stop you.

Eagle Flies was sitting cross-legged on a trunk, his bow in hand as he was tightening the string. Around him were several parts, indicating that he planned to make some arrows. But not today. 

Sneaking up on him from behind, you first peaked over his shoulder before leaning down to give him a peck on his neck, just above where his shirt exposed his skin. He didn’t tense, surely he must’ve heard you approaching him. You hadn’t been exactly careful as to where you had stepped.

Yet Eagle Flies didn’t look up from his working hands, making you pout for a second. But you didn’t falter, you persisted. You planted kisses all over his neck, up to his jaw and further on the shell of his ear, stopping on his cheek.

Meanwhile, Eagle Flies had stopped to work, his bow now resting on his lap, as he was watching you from the corner of his eye with a small smile on his lips.

Before you could kiss his cheek again, he quickly turned his head, making you kiss his lips instead. Seemed like had won.


End file.
